


A Veil For Autumn

by Enteii_Azure



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-05-05 17:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5383571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enteii_Azure/pseuds/Enteii_Azure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is on her way to the Eyrie to attend the wedding of Lysa Arryn and Petyr Baelish. Still reeling from the events in Kings Landing, she is forced into her new persona as Alayne Stone, a bastard born girl. She struggles to hide her identity with Petyr's perceived affections and her Aunt's jealousy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Greetings, this is set to a wonky cross between the book ASOIAF & TV show Game of Thrones combination. (More closely to the book I'd say...) It begins after Sansa is taken from Kings Landing after the Purple Wedding and brought to The Fingers. I have an account on Fanfiction.net under a similiar name where I originally posted this waiting for my invitation here. :) Fair warning - incoming slow burn into Sansa/Littlefinger.   
**

**...**

* * *

 

Chapter One

"The ride to the Eyrie will be less than desirable, sweetling," He had spoken offering his hand to ease her up the step. She took his hand politely, while her other hand collected her garb so as not to stumble.

 _Gods… to think if I were to fall in this company – fall full on the sheep pellets below. Oh how cruel they would be._ Sansa mused and graciously clutched the hand tighter for balance.

"But if the gods be good – more so than aboard that merchants bucket." The Lord Petyr had offered her a thin smile to comfort her.

Truth be told, Sansa had been so grateful to be making the ride to the Eyrie by foot. She had grimaced at the idea of having to board another ship so quickly after her time on the Merling King. Petyr must have noticed her discomfort, for he refused passage by sea stubbornly – even though this route would take longer and have both the horses and riders stressed by the time they finally did arrive. There was a mild sense of disdain from the men of the Vale and one Knight had gone so far as to proclaim directly that the company did not have proper provisions for such an unnecessarily longer journey.

"Then I shall see to it that _proper_ provisions be supplied from my personal stock." Petyr Baelish answered with ease. He waved a long finger to a gauntly old man beside the dais, "Bryan, see to it that extra rations of mutton be prepared for the ride. Dig through the cellar and have 2 cases of wine as well. A decent vintage, to help keep the men warm and… comfortable."

The outspoken Knight was not the only one Lord Petyr had managed to persuade that evening. He had managed to thwart a tantrum from his soon to be lady-wife.

Her eyes lifted from her lap to the other travelers in her presence. Her Aunt Lysa whisked her wine in one hand while the other was busy twirling a tuff of hair from Peyr's neck. Lord Petyr sat beside her – his hands lie still at his sides but his lips whispered to her ear. He spoke too softly for Sansa to hear, most likely a wicked tongue or sweet nothings and promises. Lysa threw a light jab at Petyr's cheek, "How deliciously wicked you are!" Another cackle came from her Aunt, Sansa shifted uncomfortably.

 _We shall be at the Eyrie by nightfall, sweetling._ Sansa mouthed the words he had spoken earlier – she needed air and an escape. The Eyrie could not come fast enough. With her surroundings, she could not avoid her Aunts affections toward the man. They had been at it most of the trip – Sansa was quickly learning that her Aunt was far from a pious woman as one could get. Her lips became a frequent visitor on Petyr's flesh and her hands shameless groped at every piece of him.

Her movement did not go unnoticed.

Quickly two icy blue orbs engulfed her, "Does a show of love and adoration displease you, _bastard girl_?" Her Aunt's attention had fully come upon her, irritated.

Sansa jumped, she struggled to find words to respond, "N-no I-I just-"

"Just what? Alayne was it?"

Sansa held her breath a moment, "Y-Y My Lady-" Her eyes turned to Petyr for help. His grey-green eyes were on her but said nothing.

Lysa intrupted her again, "Well Alayne, your Lord Father and I are to be wed. I will tell you this now- When we are wed I plan on doing much and more with my Lord Husband. In the company of others or behind closed doors, but I tell you this- It will not be in secret and will not be done in silence!"

Sansa could feel heat rise to her checks, "Of c-course my lady, forgive my-" Shockingly, her high-borne etiquette still in-tact but fell deaf to Lysa Arryn.

"Do not interrupt me child!" Lysa howled.

 _She is so frieghtening_ Sansa lowered her gaze down. _Gods…_ She could feel the tears swelling in her eyes. The chaise lurched against the course stone below, this time it was a brief skip. Again, Sansa quickly regained balanced and let her hands fall back into her lap. He had been right, the ride to the Eyrie was becoming most unpleasant but it was the company that had her stomach in knots. She felt as though she could retch.

Just then Petyr's voice rose over Lysa's wailing while he grasped both of his betrothed's hands, "Shhh… My sweet. I assure you, Alayne meant nothing by it."

Coming to her aid, Sansa had the courage to raise her gaze to meet Petyr's. His lips wore a gentle smile but his eyes remained untouched.

"Oh my love, you've scared her to tears. Hush now – Please forgive my dear silly daughter. I told you my sweet, she grew up with the faith, always accompanied by Setpas and remains a maiden-untouched," He spoke softly with a quiet hint of amusement, "Forgive her…. In-experience."

The heat remained at her cheeks and she swallowed hard, _No. That's a lie. It is not because of my… innocence. But my own blood-my Aunt's lack of…._ Of what? Her thoughts drown out the voices of the two. She had dyed the Tully red from her hair, changed to more common garments and shred all vanities of a high borne.

_Surely she must recognize me. She must!_

She could build up and wear the mask Lord Petyr had asked her to, but she could not hide from her own blood; could not hide her striking blue-eyes nor her Stark heart. How far would this charade last with her Aunt? She wanted to peal it all away, plead and cry into her Aunt's arms. Beg for her protection and be welcomed into her new home.

The week prior to her Aunt's arrival to the Finger's, Sansa was overcome with joy and excitement. She was thrilled to at last be surrounded by family, someone to love her and offer warm words. She had been a captive at King's Landing too long. _She will know me_ She had mused awaiting her Aunt's arrival that day,  _At first glance she will know me. She will sweep me into her arms and cry tears of joy to know that the last surviving child of Cat-her older sister is safe. She will!_

She had been so foolish then, just as she had been in King's Landing. At first sight of Sansa, her Lady Aunt turned to her with angry, threatened eyes and said the same words she spoke now. **Bastard girl**.

"You would have me believe that her mother had not told her the nature ways of a man and woman?"

With that, Sansa's attention was back on her Aunt, _My Mother?_ "She is dead." _Your own sister._

"Yes yes of course. A common girl to be sure, but pretty enough to seduce my Petyr. You look nothing like him you know, you have his hair perhaps." She took in a sip of wine, her eyes did not leave Sansa's figure, "Perhaps you were taken a fool sweet Petyr. She couldn't be of your seed- It is quite easy to lay with many men and claim the child belongs to the most prosper when you're a whore."

For half a heart beat her vision grew blurry and her hands balled to fists, "My mother… was no whore." A surge of anger came with her words.  
Sansa would not come to meet the consequences of her sudden courage. Before she could receive her Aunts lashes, Petyr's hands had firmly grabbed both sides of Lysa's face and had enveloped her in a hard kiss. A low moan came from her and she squirmed under his touch but he remained still and firm. His eyes slide open to meet Sansa's for one moment, they were a shade darker just now and glowing? She could not read them before they closed again.

Once again Lord Petyr seemed to have come to her aid, she used the opportunity to calm her shaking fists. She used the back of her palms to wipe the wetness from her eyes. Sansa had felt it odd to be again grateful for the man's presence and wondered how long it would continue.

She pulled on the drapes beside her, she could see it now scaled up nearly the sky. The stories of the Vale of Arryn, told of an impregnable castle nestled up against the mountains. Sansa wished she could relish this moment in seeing such a beauty and marvel at what hands of men had built but another lurch had told her they had come to a full stop. It was time to continue the journey up without the comfort of the carriage, and it could not have been more welcomed.

* * *

 

**...**

**Comments and critiques are welcomed - it has been almost a decade since I last wrote for pure enjoyment.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness... Going over Chapter 1, I was mortified to find a few errors - they have been corrected. Also, in my haste to get the story up, I seemed to have messed up my tagging. This work is NOT COMPLETED and is a Work in Progress, does anyone know how I might fix that? Please help a silly noob...

 

  
                                                                                                 
  
The loud knock that emerged from the chamber door drew Sansa from her trance. She had been sitting by her vanity, running a hand through her darkened locks staring at the strange girl in the mirror. She rose at once, within just a few small strides arrived before the door and undid the metal latch.  
  
Her new accommodation her Aunt had provided was small. When first assigned to her new home, Sansa couldn’t help but be un-inspired. It was half the length of her room the Queen Cersei had provided. Modest even, to her childhood bedroom in Winterfell, the one she had shared with Arya. Perhaps it had been a room meant for a serving girl or cup bearer?  
  
_A cruel jape of sorts?_ Sansa considered, for it was tucked away in the far East corridor of the Castle. Here, it was easy to make herself scarce, not seen or heard.  
  
Sansa pulled on the door, a gauntly woman stood, “M’lady Alayne.” The figure before her was an old crust of a woman, wrinkled skin pulled over her pointed face. Strands of white wisps matted to her head, as she smiled Sansa could only see the absence of teeth and the ones present stained or cracked.  
  
“Your Lord Father has sent me to deliver a morning meal to break your fast. Tis’ a medley of cheese and bread  & a light wine chosen by him as well no doubt. Once you are finished up, he’ll have an audience with you for preparations of the event on the ‘morrow.”  
  
In her frail hands the tray rattled, the wine tossed and a wave of liquid escaped over the rim splashing onto the bread. Quickly, Sansa moved to delicately take up the tray in both hands.  
  
“Thank you.” She gave her a trying smile.  
  
“What else would you have of me?” The crone asking, “Perhaps ready a hot bath-“  
  
“No.” Sansa started, forcing another smile, “This is more than enough, you have my thanks. Tell my Lord Pet-Father, I will await him in the great hall shortly.”  
  
“That will not be necessary my dear- He said he was to be here to escort you em’self to the Seamstress loft.” The woman shuffled away slowly.  
  
With heavy shoulders, Sansa let out a sigh of relief and turned, shutting the door with her elbow behind her. _She must be hard of hearing…_  
  
Or simply the old woman had not caught her slip. The words felt foreign to her tongue, _my lord father…_ In her mind, she had tried to picture the face of the cunning-cleaver man that had brought her but another came to her. A taller man, bigger with more burly features… A caring and gentle smile, which always touched his kind eyes. A smile that even his brisk beard could not hide.  
  
But that man was dead now. She let her heart ache for a moment and set the tray before her on the vanity. Such memories had made her weep before, but she must not weep now. She was not that caged naïve girl anymore.  
  
_I am Alayne Stone._  
  
Lord Petyr had easily persuaded her Aunt and men of the Vale that she had been his bastard born daughter. Whether it was because the words came from Petyr Baelish himself or that it was rude to pry into the history of a natural born child, Sansa could not tell. It was becoming a grueling task to convince herself who she was.  
  
_My father is Lord Petyr Baelish and tomorrow, be wed to the Lady Lysa._ She pulled apart the bread and nibbled on the piece. The stain of wine had left it moist and a hint of sour to the taste. Her eyes left the food and wondered around the room, taking in her surroundings. _How would a common bastard born take this in?_  
  
If the words Petyr had spoke were to be believed – Alayne, had become a woman and at the age of five-and-ten, decided a life of a devout pious was not for her. Finding the man that was her Father, a wealthy and very calculated man. A man without reluctance, took her as his own and whisked her away to a Castle in the clouds. How would that girl, Alayne the mask she wore, see the world around her?  
  
_She would not sulk and mope about._ Sansa had decided sternily, _She would act gracious, with wide eyes full of wonder._  
  
Petyr had been so kind to her, it would not do him well for her to be caught as Sansa Stark... She grazed on bits of cheese and took in a sip of wine. It was sour, she could feel it down her throat. But it left a pleasant taste of mixed fruits on her lips once passed. She downed the rest, finishing the last of it in two deep gulps. Warmth rose to her cheeks, but it was not enough to get her drunk. It would suffice in calming her nerves for the events of the day. She did not know how long she had been mulling, another rap at the door stirred her attention. This knock had been different than the one before. The crone maid’s had sounded sloppy and impatient, where this one was soft, quick but low.  
  
“Yes?” Sansa responded, collecting her thoughts and making her way to the door.  
  
“It’s time you came out of hiding,” A voice made its way through the door, “Sweetling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This originally was a much longer chapter but I was afraid it was too long so it was cut up into two. The back half will hopefully be up soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this story is not complete - it is in fact a work in progress.

The words melted through the wooden frame. His voice was low but firm, “It’s time you came out of hiding, Sweetling.”  
  
When Sansa opened the door, Petyr’s form greeted her. He wore a thin grey tunic, with his ever present mockingbird pinned to his doublet. His smile was pleasant, a generic one she knew - hospitably seeing to the role of the groom to be. On the morrow, he was to wed her Aunt – the whole castle was crowded with maidens, cooks, dancers and planners. All for the sake of the Lady of the Vale’s second wedding. Sansa had scarcely seen Petyr Baelish while he was tending to both the planning and his soon-to-be Lady Wife.  
  
“Alayne, such a beautiful day it is but you wouldn’t know it keeping yourself in here.” Petyr welcomed himself in, strolling past Sansa.   
  
“Yes- I am sorry.” Sansa closed the door behind him. “The castle is in such a bustle, I thought it better for me to stay out of the way.”  _It wasn’t a lie, not entirely…_  
__  
Her eyes followed him into her chamber. _He has such a presence_  
  
An eerie, almost dreadful presence about him. It had made her feel nervous many times before, even now. She had promised herself to keep her guard up and be ever cautious around him. He had proven to be a dangerous man.  
  
_Joffrey… Ser Dontos…_  
  
Both had been foolish enough to regard Littlefinger as a genuine consort and business man.  
  
_They’re dead now – Died before they could regret their misplaced allegiance._  
  
However, her caution was shadowed by a sense of relief, Petyr had not visited since their arrival. In a sea of strangers, he was at least a familiar face. Before now, they had met briefly in the dining hall in the company of others and her Aunt Lysa. Seeming cordial enough, as father and dutiful daughter.   
  
He stood quietly in the center of the room, distracted by his surroundings. His fingers laced together at his abdomen, while his head tilted slightly.  
  
“Once it’s quieted down, perhaps we’ll get you a proper room upstairs,” As he spoke, there was a genuine look of displeasure on his face. “I must admit Sweetling, I neglected to oversee your current… sleeping arrangement.”   
  
“You are kind to think of me, but I do not mind. It is kept well and the women see to my needs.”   
  
"Yes that old skeleton shuffling down the halls. I do hope your meal hadn't gotten stale- I passed her in the corridor - I had given her strict instructions on delivery this morning so that we may avoid being late... That crone, too old to be bought by anyone else-" His eyes minded the room around him, "Too hard of hearing to take note of tight mouthed secrets. If only a few more coins could buy her quicker feet..." His feet had lead him to the vanity, where his lips slide up at the corners into a coy smirk.   
  
_What is he thinking?_ Sansa questioned, _Had he amused himself over his jab?_  
  
She had come to believe Littlefinger had enjoyed the sound of his own voice more than the men he surrounded himself with. She didn’t mind, it was the taste of familiar human interaction she had desperately needed. She could excuse the man’s oddities and queer behavior, even become accustom to them.   
  
_I will have to start learning and taking notes-Make a game of it maybe?_  
  
 Sansa had no doubt that Littlefinger had been making a game out of her life and what happened to her since they had met.  
  
Within a moment, he had turned smoothly on one heel and his body now faced her, but his eyes remained low. As he turned, Sansa could see what his eyes were fixed on. Her plate of half eaten cheeses and bread and empty glass.  
  
  
“It was good – that woman, I-I didn’t catch her name, lovely though.” Sansa started, she feared he‘d mistakenly blame the crone for her lack of appetite. “Nerves- All these news faces, I’m sure to gain my appetite by supper.”  
  
Hoping to have convinced him, her eyes went to his face and she was met with his. This time there were closer to onyx than the normal shade of green and a smile teased at his lips. It was that deadly combination that made her stomach sink. His foot met the floor with a quiet creek, then again.  
  
_I can’t read him._  
  
“W-We must be going now, yes?” She blurted nervously, “The seamstress-she’s waiting on us and I-I’d not like to be needled in spite.”   
   
Before her stood the reminder of her dread, a man Sansa knew little about with an expression she could not read. He had not been this close to her, not in this manner. Too quickly the missing presence of servants and maids became painfully apparent.  
   
They were alone just now.   
  
A wave of heat coursed through her face, hastily she dropped her eyes from his to the floor, “Lord Baelish… I think we shou-”  
  
“Petyr.”  
  
He broke his silence at last, his voice was quiet and calm. Her whole body flinched at the touch of his hand, gently guiding her chin towards his. Once again his gaze owned hers.   
  
“When we are alone – undoubtedly, without question, truly alone-” He soothed, “Call me Petyr.”   
  
  
Sansa could feel her heart skip briefly and she let out an inaudible noise. She took in a sharp breathe and had meant to follow his instruction but only a whisper escaped,  _Petyr_.    
  
_He is being bold – He should not speak so carelessly._  
  
  
Sansa had thought back to the day when they arrived at the Eyrie, he had pulled her into an empty hallway free of unwanted ears.  
  
“To make this a painless transition,” Petyr spoke softly, “We need to keep up with the level of our relationship, Alayne.”  
  
“Relationship?” Sansa gasped, “Lord Baelis-” Before she could finish, a long finger pressed her lips.  
  
“Yes sweetling,” His eyes flashed to hers, “Of a father and natural-born obedient daughter. During our time here, you will declare me, your father and speak to me as such.”    
  
It had taken a moment, but Sansa had grasped the importance of his words. Petyr had not asked, but needed her to grow up quickly and become another person entirely. He was scolding her now, but only because his and her life depended on that now.  
  
Sansa nodded in submission, “Of course, Father.”  
  
  
  
In that hallway, Petyr Baelish had given Sansa an approving smiling and pecked the back of her hand. Until now, he had kept such affections as simple as that; a peck or soft hold on her shoulder. The intimacy he showed her now made her stomach twist.  
  
  
His thumb brushed lightly over her cheek, “You’re positively flushed my Lady.” His eyes were shining, “Tell me Sansa, did you like it? The wine I chose for you?”  
  
_The wine?_  
  
 “Y-Yes,” She shuddered, still struggling to find the words. “My head – I may have been too brazen with it – too much for me maybe.” Her words became faster now, her tongue tripping over itself. She had decided her face must be as red as a beet, “T-thank you Petyr…” She could hear the tremble in her voice, she wanted nothing more than to drop her head in defeat and break away from his eyes.  
  
Just now, Petyr’s touch was gentle and warm, yet he held her eyes with dominance.  She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She had not known how long it had been since her face had been stuck in his palm. All the while he had just stared at her. Sansa thoughts swirled and she began to feel light headed. How long had it been since she had last breathed?   
  
_I am sure to pass out before too long –_ Her whole body felt heavier now, Sansa could not tell if it had been the wine or the man standing in her bedroom.  
  
  
With that, the heat of his breathe was on her, she could smell the faint linger of mint.  
Two thin lips brushed her forehead, “My silly oenophilic daughter… you have to pace yourself.” Petyr’s hand dropped from her face and snaked his arm around hers.  
  
His casual smile had returned, “Shall we go? I’m sure Maryl will be cross with us for making her wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-visted this chapter over and over again, I just couldn't convince myself I was happy with it. Thank you for the patience :) I hope you did enjoy the chapter. 
> 
> Questions, critiques & comments are always welcome.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit I have been slacking on this piece - I haven't abandoned it - Just slacking. Also, reality dealings tend to get in the way. 
> 
> Please enjoy

  
  
The ancestral line of the Arryn’s saw to the careful details of the Castle’s exterior. They had created a militaristic masterpiece that pushed away any siege and crumpled outsider assaults. Proud, stiff walls surrounded the castle – bare areas unprotected by stone were left to the steep drop off the cliffs. The sigil of Arryn, the valiant white falcon and crescent moon on a blue field was depicted in many of the stained windows throughout and hung on banners.  
  
 Whereas the interior was left lacking any touch of a lavish manner. _Bland._ She had thought, as it was the only word that described it. The layout of the Eyrie was simple yet functional, fitting to the desire of the proud House. It had proven much easier to navigate than the Red Keep, there were no secret passages, latches or hatches nor various maze-like hallways and corridors. Because of this, Sansa made quick work of mapping out the Castle. Petyr had given her an adequate tour of the Eyrie, at least the common spaces where she might be summoned.   
  
There were no “little birds” as he had called them, eyeing her every moment. In her spare time, she explored other rooms unnoticed by the staff or visitors. In these moments, she felt a flutter of freedom – Sansa Stark had not been a captive here but instead had seemingly free range of the castle. Every now and then, she would catch the shadow of Lothor Brune. He hadn’t bothered to make his presence a secret, Sansa assumed he only meant to keep tabs on her and never gave him a second thought. All he ever did was watch, never bothered her, the man had been bought just to have Littlefinger’s eyes on her.    
  
            Sansa had grown so familiar within the walls she dwelled, she wondered where Petyr had been leading her. He had her arm held in his, escorting her through a queer route down a series of hallways. If his intention was to make her appointment in a timely manner, he wasn’t making anything but a lousy effort. The seamstress’s workshop was down the hall from Sansa’s room, passed the great room and up the stairway; third door from the left.   
  
She had considered making an inquiry of the sudden detour but decided against it. He had kept his eyes forward untouched by the flat smile on his lips, silent. They hadn’t spoken a word after they left Sansa’s bedchamber. No words had come to mind, no conversation she could muster that would make her feel different.  
She had felt shame, after successfully embarrassing herself. Her head felt off, her thoughts obscured - she assumed the heat that brushed her cheeks was still visible.   
Petyr must have caught on, he spared her the awkward conversation.  
  
_One topped off glass – and I manage to fuddle myself._  She scolded herself, it was that type of behavior that would get her into trouble.  _It won’t do._  
__  
That was the kind of behavior one would expect from a naïve, virgin-minded child. What if one of the maids had seen what transpired between them? A light-headed, face painted pink off the spirits, girl - shielding herselfin fear from the man who is believed to be her father. It would be enough for someone to start to ask questions. Why the daughter of Petyr Baelish would act shy when it came to showing affections towards him? __  
Before his lips grazed her flesh, she had felt a sensation in her stomach. She did not recoil or cower from him.  
She waved the thought out of her head,   _A test – of course…_  Certain it was one of many he had planned for her, so she may steady her feet in the new facade.    
  
In the distance, Sansa could hear the scuttling of a dozen feet in a nearby corridor and nearly half that of panicked voices. The voices belonged to the poor creatures in charge of setting place for the big event on the morrow. They had seemed to be working through the night, Sansa could hear their footsteps in the early morning before the sun itself woke. The ceremony was to be conducted outside in the courtyard with a Septon then brought indoors to the grand room for the celebrations. The noise and bickering came from there now. Sansa had done her best to avoid any areas quarantined now by wedding preparations.

                                                                                                                                                                              
“No- You witless fools!” The unmistakable shrill came from the Grand room. It made Sansa wince, surely her maids and servants could not meet her soaring expectations. Undoubtedly, Lysa had been overseeing and complaining about every meticulous detail.  
  
“You’ve all seemed to have forgotten the pride of the Eyrie. No, not like that.” Lysa shrieked, “I’ve waited on this day for a long time now and I won’t have it be ruined by your incompetence!”  
  
Sansa felt her grip tighten on Petyr’s arm, she prayed the route they were on now didn’t lead them any closer to her aunt. Thankfully, Petyr motioned her and a left turn took them in another direction. Lysa’s tantrum still rang through the halls but it became fainter now and Sansa let out a sigh of relief.  
  
She took a moment to steal a glance at him, his attention still forward guiding her through the castle. That same smile still painted to his face but it did not reach his eyes, Sansa noted.  
  
_What does he think of all this?_ She wondered keeping her eyes on him, _Is this extravagant wedding what he pictured or even wanted?_  
No, she decided. From what little she knew of the man, Sansa pictured a quiet and quaint affair was more of his liking. Though she knew she’d never get him to say so.  
A few steps more and suddenly the two were outside. Sansa had been so lost in thought, she failed to notice the turn they had taken.  
__  
The courtyard? Petyr led us to the courtyard but why? Oh-  
  
Before she could protest, sunlight consumed her. Her porcelain skin bathed in the sunlight, goosebumps played at the surface; while a gentle breeze teased the darkened locks. It’s true, Sansa had missed the snows and chilling nip of Winterfell’s air, she had longed to feel the embrace of a summer’s day. It had been months since she walked the gardens of Kings Landing but the sun felt warmer here – it kissed her skin eagerly, as if it had known the distance they shared.  
  
The courtyard had been decorated with dozens of floral bouquets and white and blue sashes strung up totems and the charming wooden gazebo draped in fine silk. Sansa found it easy to ignore the vain ornaments and baubles and take in the natural beauty of the vast greenery that was before her. Instead blue swept over the tall forest hedges and cobbled stone that led to the fountain. Stone children were portrayed playing in shallow water, while a falcon flew above.  Her eyes were drawn to a lonely stone bench near the back of the garden. Bits of light danced across it nearly shadowed by an old oak. A smile pulled at her lips, she took pleasure in thinking of all the books she would read here.  
  
_I could come out here and have this to myself._  
  
After the excitement from the wedding had passed, it would become empty again. No one would bother her outside, the courtyard had been empty save Petyr and herself.  
  
Catching herself in her reverie – her eyes crept open, _How long have I-?_  
She turned, Petyr was no longer beside her but behind – a few paces back. Unknowingly, Sansa had released herself form Petyr’s hold and strolled forward alone. He had let her – he had let her waltz out, lost in her daydream.  
  
 His lips had turned up in amusement, “There is no need to apologize, Sweetling.” He stole the words from her, “Days like these long to be praised by beautiful maidens. Take a moment to enjoy this – I fear there will not be much more of this - before too long we’ll have the bite of winter on us.”

  
“Thank you but perhaps another time.” She gave him a sweet smile and returned to Petyr’s side to link her arm with his.  
                                ___________________________________________  
  
 Sansa stood firmly in place, trying to look as statueious as she could manage. There were another pair of eyes on her now, strange burnt eyes; studying every flaw and inch of her. She was not a tall woman, Sansa had at least a few inches on her. When they had arrived, the woman hurried them into her space, eager to give her new project a thorough look over.  
Her skin had been an exotic tint many shades darker than Sansa’s. Darker still was her short curled hair, framing around a tight jaw line. Sansa wondered how this woman looked earlier, in the summer of her life. She had decided the woman would have been stunning and taunted the men that beckoned her. Just now though, the ages were plain on her face, time had graced her with smooth wrinkles yet her proud posture gave away no sign of aging.  
The woman brazenly smoothed her hands out across Sansa’s figure. Sansa questioning raised her gaze to Petyr’s for assurance, his response was a light chuckle.  
  
“Fear not Sweetling, Maryl is the finest seamstress in all of Westeros.” He motioned one hand to his doublet, “Her hands are the only hands I trust with my garments.”  
Maryl waved a laxed hand at Petyr, seemingly ignoring his praise.  
  
“Let me see you gorgeous girl, all of you, turn for me - that’s it.” Her voice was low and laced with an accent from across the sea.  
  
“My lord, where have you been hiding this lovely creature?”  
  
“Alayne, my natural daughter – I just recently learned of her existence. A raven came with the news of her mother’s death and being the type of man I am, rushed to her need.” Remembering every detail of the lie he had sewn was a strain for her but Petyr lied with such ease, “Once I saw her I knew – she has a striking resemblance to her mother.”  
  
 “Lucky for you my dear.” Maryl jabbed, grouping Sansa at the chest. The warm sting returned to her cheeks, another look of alarm was shot to Petyr and again, was ignored.  
“Modesty too – that my Lord she did not get from you either.”  
  
                                             ___________________________________________  
  
The back and forth went on between the two while Sansa fell victim to more gropes and pinches. The woman had been prodding her for a reaction. She had to remember she was no longer a Lady, she a bastard and was going to be treated like one. Though Sansa was convinced Maryl would have just as easy groped the Lady Lysa or even Queen Cersei. The thought made her giggle to herself, she would have loved to see such a sight.  
 She was a brazen woman, just now was being bold with Lord Baelish and he was giving back as good as he got, jape for jape. Sansa watched in amusement, it was surprising to see Petyr interact with the woman in such a way.  
  
Petyr Baelish had no friends Sansa knew, he had told her so himself. Yet the manner in which they spoke, led Sansa to believe that maybe, Maryl was the closest thing to a friend he was capable of… but paid off no less.  
Maryl’s assistant brought out dozens of garments for Sansa. They had all been hand me downs, seconds from hand maids and even few from the Lady Lysa. After she had given birth to Sweet Robyn, none had fit and Lysa was forced to call on another wardrobe to be made.  
  
Sansa eyed them over with dismay, they had been dull – none more inspiring than the last. The color pallet was limited from beige to a dingy white. The gowns had been casualties of poor taste and neglect, hidden away in some closet where they ought to have stayed. Sansa had wanted to be selfish. With her new façade in place, she wanted to stride proudly into the lavish event in a magnificent piece, bright with glamour. She had wondered if Alayne would draw the eyes of a handsome boy. She yearned for a mysterious lad to take her hand in dance and steal a kiss after, out in the garden. Alayne would be entranced in the heat of romance and be swept away in it all, she hoped.  
  
“None of these-” Maryl spoke, “I will work through the night to craft something worthy of such a face. Tell me gorgeous girl, what is your favorite color?”  
  
_Blue._  
  
The thought came quickly in instinct, though she knew that couldn’t be her answer. Petyr was present and she was determined to show him her progress.  
  
“Green.” She answered, “Just like my father’s.” Petyr nodded, seemingly in approval.  
  
“Hmm… Yes, of course. With your hair – you’ll have every eye on you.”  
  
_If only you knew my natural hair color._ She drew a hand through her locks, “Do you really think so?” Trying hard to sound uncertain, she let her voice trail off. _With the flame of my Tully red, no one would be looking at the shade of my dress._  
Though they wouldn’t be looking at the beauty of an innocent-pious girl, brought up in the life of a bastard – but the daughter of a traitorous family and wife of a kinslayer.  
  
“Blue.” Meryl decided, “Those sapphires gems of yours deserve a complimented shade.”  
  
_That will be too obvious, Petyr doesn’t want me drawing suspicious attention._  
  
Alayne would draw the full wrath of Lysa, showing up in the colors of her late husband. She had done well to keep out of her Aunt’s path until now, she certainly wouldn’t purposely draw her fire now. She was thankful that Petyr spoke up first.  
  
“You forget my soon to be Lady Wife, she means to be wed in her best Arryn blue.” He motioned to a gown draped over the lounging sofa, “Alayne will have the blanched almond with yellow trim and white stitching. See to it that it gets taken in for her.”  
Sansa grasped his words, he too feared how Lysa would react to having attention drawn from her on her own wedding day. No doubt, Petyr was again sparing her from further anxiety.  
  
Meryl rolled her eyes, “Of course my Lord.” She muttered more under her breath, it had been in a foreign tongue and Sansa didn’t know the words.  
  
Sansa felt her displeasure as well, he had picked out the blandest color matched with a dismal design. It was feminine enough, just without the bells and whistles she had grown accustom to. No lace or intricate stitching and a high square neck that would be far from flattering. It was made from a thick wool that would no doubt hide every curve but also scratch and itch.    
  
Maryl twisted her at the shoulders, turning Sansa away from her and Petyr. With her back at them now, she faced the window. The two behind her began small conversation about the noises going on downstairs. Sansa drowned their voices out, finding more interest in the window before her.  Sansa noted the drapes, they were a satin material. Finer than that of those in her own room. The commodities on this side of the castle were of a much higher quality.  
Two firm hands grasped the ribbons of her corset and began pulling at them. Instinctively she raised her arms off from her sides to accommodate the woman working. She kept her gaze forward, peering through the window. Nothing could be seen but the sky and a small bird that peeked diligently at the wooden sill.  
It wasn’t until the garment was halfway loosened that she realized. The muscles in her body tightened and her back straightened with a gasp.  
  
_Petyr is still in this room…_  
  
The sudden weight she felt now made her breathe catch briefly in her throat.  
  
_Surely he doesn’t mean to stay – it’s not proper._  
  
She regained her composure quick enough as to not let Maryl feel her unease. The muscles at her back remained strict and tight.  
  
Petyr Baelish had gained a reputation as a rake with some of his more perverse behaviors. She was not naïve to the fact that he owned many brothels in Kings Landing but now she questioned just how young the girls he employed were. Perhaps he had become accustomed to the scantily clad or nudeness of the women at his employ, he wouldn’t think twice about being here, now.  
That thought was meant to make her feel better, somehow it did not. The only man who had seen her in this quickly becoming state of bareness was her husband, Tyrion. Even he gave her the decency to stop her from undressing entirely.  
  
She felt the air brush her skin suddenly before the corset fell from her and sunk to the floor. Sansa moved her hands hastily to grab the bosom of the dress. She pressed it to her chest tightly, clinging to her last bit of modesty.  
Yet the weight of his stare lingered on her bare neck and shoulders. She was beginning to loathe the familiar warmth at her cheeks.   
  
 She felt movement near her feet, “Sweet child there is nothing to feel ill at ease.” It was Maryl, she was reaching for the garment. “Except maybe for this-” When she picked up the corset she slapped it under her arm, “This did nothing for you. We will get you one that fits and will make your bosom plump and swell, for the whole realm to see.”  
  
She snapped impatiently at her shy assistant, “You there – with me. There’s a cupboard down the hall that should have a spare or two, these short arms won’t reach by themselves. It will be just a moment, sweet girl – my lord.”  
  
Too quickly the women’s footsteps padded away from Sansa and then came the sound of a door closing. It was then she cursed, she didn’t need to turn to know that the man still stood behind her. She knew, she felt it. And he said nothing.  
Her hand clutched the bundled fabric at her chest tighter and she cursed again. The Gods - the Old and the New, her Aunt Lysa, Petyr, the Seamstress… They all borne the wrath of bitter words, in the growing clatter that was her mind.    
_If the Gods are good, I will survive this – this humiliation as well._  
  
She had been thankful the gown covered most of her and her pale skin. Though the air that brushed her back now was a harsh reminder that not all of her was decent. Her hair was collected to one side on her shoulder, draping down past where her hands held the garment. How she wished now that it had not been – but instead sprawled across her spine, providing some protection or coverage.  
  
All of it tore at her stomach uncomfortably. She thought to pull the garment up to her shoulders but feared loosening her grip in the slightest would cause it to cascade down to her feet. Sansa deserted the idea and instead opted to stand in silence. For a time…  
  
She predicted he would jest about her current situation – but she was wrong. There was a deafening hush about the room.  
  
_The silence is somehow worse._  
  
When the women did not return after what felt as hours, Sansa summoned the courage to speak.  
  
“The Castle – ” She stammered, keeping her eyes set on the window “It buzzes with such excitement. Are you pleased to finally be wed _father_?”  
  
“When you get to my age _Sweetling,”_ His words made her flinch, somehow he sounded much closer now, “All the excitement of a wedding gets lost on you. Though I suppose if there was a word for it – yes – quite pleased.”  
  
It was obvious from his lack of enthusiasm on the subject. Had she the nerve to turn to face him, she imagined meeting a false smile that did not reach his eyes. The mask – so effortlessly laced like a second skin.

Still lingering was the thick tension that caught in her lungs. It was as though the air itself had been altered. Although now the musty smell of dust had been replaced with a pleasant scent of musk and sandalwood. Sansa had not noticed the change of fragrances until now. She breathed deep, the warm scent aided to calm her.  
There was a question that scratched at her ever since she came face-to-face with her kin under the false pretenses.  
  
She dared to speak her mind, “When are we to tell Aunt Lysa?”  
  
“Tell her what, _my dear_?”  
  
“You know exactly what, _Petyr.”_ Sansa let out a hiss of frustration. Her tone surprised her, where had this sense of mettle came from? It had been the first time she had wrapped her words with such boldness directed at him. Sansa knew it to be wrong and impolite, perhaps she blamed her current vulnerability. She was in no mood for games, Petyr Baelish was cunning and knew what she was getting at.  
  
“I intend to speak with Lysa well after the wedding. It’s best to wait for an opportune moment – seeing as I will be informing her, that her beloved husband has been hiding something… someone from her.” He spoke calmly, seemingly unoffended by her manner.  
  
It was eerie how easily his voice carried over the room – seemingly just a breath away now. She flinched but hadn’t let her grip falter. Still flushed she hadn’t dared to turn her gaze in his direction.  
  
She frowned, “We couldn’t speak with her sooner? Maybe tonight over supper?”  
  
“I’m afraid not, Sweetling - Guests will start to arrive this evening. There would be too many new, strange faces – I wouldn’t want just but one person to overhear a word…” His voice trailed off for a moment as if he’d forgotten something. “And it won’t be the two of us to tell her. I believe it to be best she hear it from me, privately. This way I hope she will feel less… ambushed about the whole thing.”  
  
_No… She is my family and it is my blood. She deserves to hear the words from me._  
  
Sansa felt a fire soar through her. He would take away the moment she had been waiting for? The second her Aunt realized Sansa’s true lineage and berate herself for ever treating her so coldly. It was the only thing Sansa had wished so hard on in a long time.  
  
She clinched her fingers tightly and craned her neck to her shoulder to face him, “And what of what I want-”  
Her words stopped there suddenly, as she turned.  
  
It has his breath she felt first, she briefly wondered how she could have missed it before. It was the only warmth she felt against her bare skin. Then her blue orbs crashed into his grey green. Her breathe came hard then in her chest.  
 If only it had been her imagination and instead that he had been positioned at the same spot near the door as she had seen him there moments before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I still have 1 or 2 reader's attention. Thank you for stopping by :)


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